Dear Sir, - Evidence discloses an almost unanimous view agreeing to the fascination exercised by those brave and wonderful ladies who have conquered circumstances and face the world gaily and cheerfully, although legless, limping or lamed. They have found, somewhat to their surprise, a world of admiration awaiting them, due entirely to their unique condition. The extraordinary fact, which is at first so strange and incomprehensible, is that the fascination they kindle, the love they engender, and the delight they give, is because of, and not in spite of, this characteristic.
Now, what is the magnetic charm possessed by our irresistible monopede, the sweet little lady in leg-irons, those lacking inches sometimes replaced by cork, and sometimes not, that bewitching limp, whatever the cause? Charm there is, irresistible and fascinating, for all who see it. An attraction is not always easily explained, neither is beauty; but a reason there must be to account for the widespread feelings on this stimulating subject.
By process of elimination it may be found, and the first thing to rule out is pity. Pity is loathsome and abhorrent to those who at one time or another have suffered the pangs of self-anguish before adjustment has taken place.
Sympathy will do nothing to bring back Evelyn's leg. Sympathy will not release the restraining bondage of Sylvia's leg-iron, nor quiet the clank when they wear too loose. Sympathy will not extend Valerie's leg those lacking nine inches, so she can abandon out of doors that high cork heel of adjustment. Sympathy will not dispel the lame, limping gait of Vera's uncontrollable muscles. What is more to the point, sympathy does nothing to the possessors of these characteristics, save only to stab home again that they are cripples - a hard and unkind word that must not be applied to the lovely ladies of whom we speak.
Curiosity is equally repellent. To be looked upon and handled as a curio is not merely mortifying, but irritating beyond measure; for our lovely ladies are invariably conscious of their rather unique appearance. As such wish to be taken, and not picked and examined nor investigated, as a specimen for the curious. Understanding soon comes between the charmer and the charmed, a mutual understanding which has few secrets.
The search must continue. The attraction therefore is neither pity, sympathy, nor curiosity, for the extension of these will engender the antithesis to any happy understanding or mutual regard.
How many have felt, with these lovely ladies, the desire to help, to lift and carry, to support? The pleasant sensation of being so useful, so gallant, does not really cover the attraction. Few indeed are the lame who do not prefer to manage as if there was no inconvenience at all their restricted abilities. Few indeed there are who can stifle all resentment at being "fussed over." The suspicion remains, too, of a desire for closer contact with all this coddling. Not that our lovely ladies are immune to any warm affection. Rather the reverse. There is, however, a difference between cuddling and coddling.
An attempt at analysis may disclose what we want. Let us see.
A crutch is approaching. Swinging lightly on it, Evelyn, dainty as a fairy, her beautiful single leg enhanced by a pretty shoe whose high heel beats an echo to the timing of her crutch. A picture of irresistible beauty to the eye and to the ear, as well as to the heart. Sweet one-legged siren, what is your attraction? Certainly your mode of progress.
There are others we must consider, though, so let us pass on to Sylvia, whose beautiful right leg finds for a companion another encased in gleaming irons. Her dress is consciously longer than Evelyn's, for she feels it unfitting that more of her bondage need be shown than fashion demands. Enough, too, that these encasing rods support her weaker leg and yet impart withal a grace to her gait she might never have attained. For grace there is in the regulated pace, and nothing discordant in the faint sound of metal or the rub of leather.
Now Valerie, beneath her pretty frock extends full nine inches of polished cork high heel to adjust her shorter leg. How neat and clean, and so compelling to admiring gaze. What charm can exist in yet so small a thing? Pointing her pretty toecap to the ground, she moves along with rhythmic grace, her frock swaying as to a pendulum hastening down the street. Before we see her swaying form abreast, we enjoy to the full her great attraction, and from behind we can but admire the cobbler's art that shaped such symmetry with consummate grace.
Finally to Vera, whose limping luck will not have need of any artifice or disguise. Vera merely limps, but limps in such a way that her undulating body is a poem in movement. There is nothing ugly or repulsive in her walk, her regulated pace set by the crippled member has infinite attraction, and coupled with an eye to style, she presents a very charming picture.
Here are divers "misfortune" or "unfortunates" as some would call them, yet all transformed to a great attraction. Even when Evelyn's crutch is thrust out of reach and she must hop on her pretty single leg, her irresistible attraction is not gone, rather accentuated.
Same with Sylvia, divested of her irons, for she becomes as Vera, and Valerie with her high boot off limps elegantly across the room moving with a graceful rhythm which sets the heart beating faster.
And there we have it. All these lovely ladies, legless, limping, lame, have a common appeal which strikes to the core of our very being.
Our hearts beat rhythm (though they with their grace speed up the pace). Rhythm the integral part of the order of things. From the change of the seasons to the throb of an engine. From the tempo of a dance to the waves of the ceaseless seas. Symphony of Spitfire. Mannequin or maimed, movement with rhythm.
Few move with more elegant grace than mannequins. The secret of their poise is chiefly due to the fact that they have learnt to walk. So many people shuttle hither and thither. The passage of the average lady through the street is neither elegant nor graceful. Most lurch along, quite a number strut; few, if any, pay the slightest heed to their carriage. Seldom do we find one paying half the attention to their gait as to their gowns.
Thus do our lovely ladies come into their own. Through farce of circumstance they have had to learn to walk. With few exceptions the result has been an elegant rhythmic grace, which, striking a chord in the artistic soul, awakens an appeal and fascination most irresistible.
The fundamental beauty of dancing is the beauty expressed by ordered movement in a regular tempo. Ballroom or ballet, it is just the same. Imagine the chaos which would result in the musical world were there no timing imposed upon the tune. Beauty in art as well as literature depends chiefly on balance and rhythm.
So may we set them on their high pedestals where they belong, these graceful, legless, limping and lamed lovely ladies who
reveal in their elegance a rhythm which catches us up in admiration and adoration. Let us shout from the housetops, "We love you because you are legless, limping and lame, and not in spite of the fact." For in them we find elegant, graceful rhythm.
Yours truly,
Rotto.